Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King Book 1)

by RJ Blain

  “I can follow him now,” Verishi said, holding up the hank of Ferethian’s tail.

  Breton swallowed, and it took all of his will to shake his head. Beneath Dorit, Honey trembled, but she was silent and didn’t fight against the Yadesh’s hold.

  “We let him go for a reason, Verishi,” Maiten said, his Danarite thickly accented.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He’ll run, searching for what is gone, until he can’t run anymore,” Breton said. He wiped at his eyes to ease their burning, but it didn’t help. Tears dampened his sleeve. “Then he’ll die.”

  “Die? B-but why? I don’t understand! Why?”

  ~She will stay. For now,~ Dorit said. Breton blinked at the Yadesh. The creature’s thoughts were in Danarite, though like Maiten, there was a strange sense of an accent to the creature’s words.

  The Yadesh sighed and eased his weight off of the mare. Maiten grabbed her bridle, but the chestnut didn’t pull away. She didn’t move, as though the very weight of her grief kept her pressed close to the ground.

  “I don’t understand!” Verishi wailed.

  Breton reached his hand out to the girl. “Come here, Verishi.” The girl obeyed. She thrust out the hank of Ferethian’s tail hairs. His hand shook when he closed his fingers around the smooth strands. “Is there anyone you love that you’d do anything for them?”

  The girl jerked her head in a nod.

  “He wants to be with his Rider.” Breton tried to continue, but the words wouldn’t come. He bowed his head and stared down at the ground.

  “So why don’t we follow him to his Rider?” Verishi asked.

  Breton couldn’t say it. If he said it, it meant he believed it. He didn’t want to believe it.

  “He’s gone where we can’t follow,” Maiten whispered.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He’s dead, Verishi. Their Rider is dead.”

  ~~*~~

  The night had long since embraced the forest before their horses halted and refused to take another step forward. Breton shifted in the saddle and reached down to stroke Gorask’s neck. The gelding tossed his head, flicked an ear back at him, and sighed.

  Breton stared to the east. Maybe Ferethian had the right of it, chasing after the one who couldn’t be followed anymore. The emptiness within didn’t lie; he was severed from the Rift King, and he’d only felt that once before at Arik’s death.

  “We need to let the horses rest, Breton,” Maiten said.

  “I know.” He slid off Gorask and threw himself into the task of caring for the horses. Honey stared to the east and ignored him.

  “If we make good time tomorrow, we might be close enough to where he should have been at to maybe find out what happened to him,” Maiten said. “I don’t like this. Something isn’t right. There’s never been a record of the Rift King not being chosen immediately after death. Why is there nothing?”

  ~How would you know that there is a new Rift King? I don’t understand,~ Dorit said.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to a horse talking back. We have our hands full enough with them,” Maiten muttered.

  ~I, Rifter, am not a horse.~ Dorit snorted and stomped his cloven hoof. ~Explain about your king.~

  Breton sighed. A headache was forming behind his eyes. Despite the cool of the evening, sweat dripped down from his brow. “We’re Guardians, Dorit. We’ve always known where our king is. We can tell when he’s in danger, and we can tell when the king has died. That is just a part of our duty. Though sometimes I think the horses are better at knowing just where he is than we are.”

  ~And now you feel nothing at all?~

  “Yes.”

  ~And there is nothing that can lock away what ties you to your king? There are ways to do so between a Knight and a Yadesh. Painful, but possible. Difficult to do, but it can be done.~ Dorit glanced at him with a too-bright golden eye. ~Could this be what has happened to your king?~

  “If it is, whomever did it isn’t going to live to regret it,” Breton growled.

  Maiten glanced at him but said nothing.

  ~I understand.~

  “So what do we do now, Breton? We’re in the middle of Kelsh with no direction.”

  “We could follow Ferethian, wherever he’s gone.” Verishi suggested, holding up the ragged locks of the stallion’s tail. “She watches over them.” The girl’s blue eyes bore into his and Breton sighed.

  “Breton?”

  “Very well, Verishi. You said you can follow him. We are people of our word in the Rift. Show us your truth.”

  Maiten brought his horse alongside Gorasak and met his eyes with a frown. “Are you certain of this? We’ve no proof that we aren’t just chasing after a mad beast.”

  Breton tightened his grip on Gorasak’s reins. “If we chase a corpse, so be it. At least we can see Ferethian off to the ancestors properly instead of leaving him alone in this wretched kingdom that not even the sun can keep warm.”

  ~Summer won’t be long in coming,~ Dorit said. ~It isn’t that cold.~

  “Forgive my surly friend, Dorit. It isn’t every day a man loses a son.”

  ~Son?~ Horror laced the Yadesh’s silent voice.

  “In all things of importance,” Maiten said. “That’s our way. His sire was born of these lands, as was his dam, but his father is Breton. It might be hard for an Outsider to understand. Most of us don’t know for sure who our sires are, but Kalen is one of the exceptions since he was born an Outsider.”

  Breton drew his breath in a hiss. “You say too much, Maiten.”

  “Does it matter now, Breton? It’s the truth. He is an Outsider. Not all of us have court-mated parents like you do. And those of us who do know our sires aren’t nearly so vehement about denying them as Kalen is to his sire and dam!”

  Breton muttered curses under his breath and tightened his hand into a fist. “Fine. Say what you want, then.”

  ~You mean your king is a Kelshite? How is that possible?~

  “This secret dies with you, Yadesh,” Breton growled out, still glaring at Maiten. “Yes, he was born a Kelshite. May whatever God you serve spare us all should he live and learn what you’ve done to Ferethian and Honey, if it is true your people can do as you say they can.”

  ~But why? Why would a Kelshite be the Rift King?~ Dorit asked. ~How is that possible?~

  Breton grunted and twisted in the saddle to meet the Yadesh’s eyes. “Because he is what he is. He is what he is because of your people. He is what he is because of his sire—may the ancestors curse his soul—and he is what he is because your fool of a king can’t control his ambitions. You serve a king that’d kill children to accomplish his goals. You won’t find a love of Kelsh among us, Yadesh. Maybe Arik had the right of it. The fate of becoming the Rift King is better than being a pawn of your Kelshite king.”

  “And you accuse Kalen of being cryptic at times, Breton. Forgive him, Dorit, this is a difficult subject for us at the best of times. All of the Guardians know of this because we have to protect Kalen from the consequences, should anyone learn of this truth. We’ve enough work Guarding him even before we consider his past. Kalen’s name is Kalen Alkasatoren. In the old tongue, Alka means ‘born.’”

  ~Satoren? Kalen born Satoren?~ The whites of the Yadesh’s eyes showed. ~It can’t be.~

  Breton curled his lip up in a humorless smile. “What can’t be? That the king of the Rifter savages is none other than a man groomed for the Kelshite throne?”

  ~But he died long ago.~

  “I thought you could sense the truth of words, Dorit. He didn’t die. I took him. I took him and made him my son when he was all but killed by the man who sired him and the king who was supposed to protect him,” Breton snarled.

  “Easy, Breton. It isn’t Dorit’s fault.”

  Breton glared at Maiten and then let his breath out in a sigh. “My apologies.”

  ~But why would a Rifter steal a Kelshite child? There’s no benefit to it!~

  “I’ll t
ell this, Breton. You’ll lose your temper, start yelling. You’ll make Verishi cry.”

  “I won’t cry. He speaks the truth,” the girl said. She swooshed Ferethian’s tail in a circle, the ends of it brushing against Dorit’s withers. “She approves of what has been done.”

  “Now who’s being cryptic?” Breton muttered, staring at Verishi. She had the bright-eyed gaze of someone far older than the nine years she was supposed to be. He swallowed back a lump in his throat. It reminded him of Kalen, trapped in a body too young for his thirty years.

  “As I was saying,” Maiten said, glaring at Breton. He shrugged his shoulders and let the red-headed Guardian speak. “If Breton hadn’t taken Kalen, he would’ve died. Breton was supposed to be the next Rift King, but Arik changed his mind at some point and died to Kalen’s hand some fifteen years ago. Thus, a Kelshite Outsider became the Rift King. Kalen acknowledged Breton as a father before he became the Rift King, and despite claiming his status as a Vekakati, it’s accepted that Breton is Kalen’s father and Kalen is Breton’s son. He cries Vekakati every time someone gets too close to him, but we’ve gotten used to ignoring him. Then you’ve the herd of foals who call Kalen father. For all Arik sired the lot of them, he’s been a good father for them all. From his stellar upbringing by Breton, of course. There’s your story.”

  ~I can’t say I’m having an easy time accepting this, but I do not believe you lie. I do not understand what this Vekakati is, though. Explain.~

  Breton shook his head. “Vekakati means without family. We have no reason to lie to you, Dorit.”

  ~I…I understand that. But I also do not think it would bode well for the Rift King to sit on the Kelshite throne.~

  “I thought you’d see it our way,” Maiten said with a laugh. “But that said, he’d make a far better king than the horse’s ass that currently sits on your throne.”

  “Don’t insult the horses,” Breton muttered.

  “Do you want me to lead you to him now?” Verishi asked, holding up the black locks of long hair from Ferethian’s tail.

  ~Yes, Verishi. Guide us,~ Dorit said.

  Breton breathed out a relieved sigh. The girl draped the hairs over one of her legs. She pulled out a single hair and held it up, staring at it intently. The words she muttered hung in the air, and Breton’s skin tingled. A shiver coursed through him. The strand lifted up from her hand, enveloped in a golden light. The dry heat of the desert wafted over him, and the scent of sand teased Breton’s nose. The hair slithered through the air and floated ahead of them, illuminating the way.

  “She is pleased with us and will guide us!” Verishi said, clapping her hands together before gathering up the remaining hairs of Ferethian’s tail into a bunch and clutching them to her chest.

  “That’s disturbing,” Maiten said. Breton nodded his agreement, but nudged Gorasak’s sides, following after Dorit and Verishi.

  Chapter Ten

  Kalen awoke to the jolting trot of a horse. The cold chilled the sweat drenching him. A strong pressure wrapped around him like the weight of stone and dirt. He jerked and opened his eyes to darkness. The memory of Tavener’s death was fresh, and it opened the wounds he had tried to forget.

  A cry died on his lips. He couldn’t draw breath and his heart beat a rapid, uneven tempo that echoed in his throat and ears.

  The place deep within his chest, where Tavener’s presence had once resided, where Ferethian and Honey had since filled, was once again empty, leaving behind a bone-deep cold. He couldn’t even sense the malevolence of the First writhing in the back of his head.

  The horse slowed to a halt.

  “Easy,” Lord Delrose said. “You’re safe.”

  Kalen blinked until his eyes adjusted to the dark of the forest. What he had mistaken for a horse solidified into the golden form of a Yadesh. The antlers of Garint’s Yadesh gleamed in the moonlight. “What?”

  Kalen struggled to lash out, but his sire held him in a firm grip. Satrin turned his head to stare at him with a golden eye, but the whisper in his mind he expected didn’t come. The Yadesh cocked both ears back and turned its gaze to the man behind him. A flush spread across his face. They were too close. It was bad enough he woke on a Yadesh, but even worse that he rode with his sire.

  “Satrin apologizes for waking you.”

  Kalen furrowed his brow and stared at the Yadesh, but if the creature did speak, he didn’t hear anything. Sitting straighter hurt, but it put a little distance between him and his sire. His arm was pinned to his chest in a thick cast. Every movement triggered a tingling in his fingers and stabbing pain up his arm. “Where are we?”

  “Heading somewhere safe.”

  “Where are Ceres and Varest?” The Guardians were far enough away where he couldn’t feel their presences shadowing him. He tensed. If either one of them were hurt, he’d make someone regret it. It didn’t matter if he endured a few broken bones. It wasn’t their fault he existed.

  “They’re safe. I expect they’ll be following along in a few days time whether or not I want them to. They’re persistent, those sons of yours. Satrin says if we hurry, we’ll be to our destination before sunrise.”

  Kalen stared at the Yadesh again. Why wasn’t the creature speaking to him? Was it for the same reason he didn’t feel the First? Doubt kept him silent.

  For all he felt nothing of the horses, surely Ferethian and Honey were safe; not even those seeking to become the Rift King wanted to hurt them. They were too valuable. Breton wouldn’t allow anyone to risk them.

  Kalen’s chest tightened at the thought of the tall Guardian. Where was Breton? Did he remain within Blind Mare Run doing his duty? Of everyone, Breton was the one that Kalen wanted at his side.

  Breton was the only one who remembered he wasn’t just the Rift King.

  He almost hoped for the voices in his head to drive away the loneliness. Laughter tried to bubble out of his throat, but he swallowed it back. How had he gotten so used to the silent voices talking to him?

  “I’m relieved that you’re awake. I wish to bargain with you,” his sire said. The Yadesh took off at a trot. Each beat of Satrin’s gait jarred his arm. Flashes of light danced in front of Kalen’s eyes.

  “I’m listening,” he hissed out through clenched teeth.

  “You want to return to the Rift. With the Danarites out there after you—and at least one rogue Knight—Land’s End isn’t a safe route to get you there. If I were to take you back that way, I could very likely be handing you over to them as a gift. If you go on your own, you’re in no condition to fight anyone off. Even keeping you asleep so long isn’t enough to let you fully recover from the type of strain your body has been under. If Marissa had her way, you’d be asleep for another five days.”

  “I’ve been asleep for five days?”

  “You needed it.”

  “Curse it all. Just like Yuris.”

  “Yuris?”

  “She’s the healer I put in charge of the Guardians.”

  “Not your healer, then? You’ve been Healed many times before, or so says Marissa. I saw some of the scars.”

  “Rockslide,” Kalen replied. He welcomed the pain of the Yadesh’s jarring trot. Every memory he had struggled to forget flitted through his thoughts one after another, and the questions they brought back to the surface remained unanswered.

  He tried to swallow back his worry, but it stuck in his throat. Ferethian had saved him from the void left after Tavener’s death. Now that sense of security was gone, leaving behind nothing but emptiness that threatened to choke off his breath.

  “A rockslide?”

  The memory of it made Kalen wince, but speaking the words was better than silence. “I was riding Tavener on the trails when it collapsed. Tavener died. I didn’t. Most of the scars are from then.”

  “With so many scars from it, how did you survive?”

  “Fa-Breton found me, from what I’ve been told. I don’t remember much about it.” The words were precariously close to a lie. Satr
in flicked his ears back.

  What he did remember unsettled him as much as riding a Yadesh in front of his sire. A still, quiet, and desperate voice that begged him to live, to survive. That voice had been echoed by Breton, and had chained him to life even though he had wanted to chase after Tavener in death.

  “Some of those scars are from swords,” his sire replied.

  “I’m the Rift King. Are you surprised?” Kalen wrinkled his nose. The hazy memory of dreaming of Arik taunted him. Had it been a true reflection of the past, or some twisted fever dream? There was some truth to it—the Kelshite King had gotten the vellest from somewhere. But, there was only one Kelshite Akakashani.

  There was only one person who could’ve requested vellest’s cure.

  The need for the truth held him still and drove away the instinct to escape and find his own way. What was the truth?

  “So you are. How long have you been the Rift King?”

  “Mmm. Fifteen years or so.”

  “F-fifteen years? But then…”

  “What? You sound like you swallowed something you didn’t like,” Kalen replied. The mockery he’d meant to fling at his sire emerged soft and tired.

  “You killed Arik when you were fifteen, then.”

  “He was but the first of many. It is ironic, isn’t it? The Rift King lives and dies by the sword in a place where murder is the worst transgression. Code-breakers are cast into the deeps to die long, slow deaths. I don’t let those who try live that long. I’d remember that.”

  Silence answered his words. Kalen shrugged his shoulders and winced at the pain that radiated up from the tips of his fingers. “When they aren’t trying to kill me with swords, they try to use words instead, perhaps hoping to bore me to death. I don’t envy those dealing with my study right now.”

  “What’s wrong with your study?”

  Kalen’s laugh sounded strained even to his ears. “How many people do you know who can speak, read, and write in languages used in backwater places like Silvernas? They don’t even know the trade tongue, they’re so reclusive. Someone is surely pouring over translated texts trying to piece together replies in languages few know, assuming they haven’t sent word to those who do speak those languages.”